


On Memory Bliss

by romanticalgirl



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Gym Class Heroes
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Gen, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 05:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Travis is the kind of calm Pete needs</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Memory Bliss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akamine_chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamine_chan/gifts).



This isn’t panicking.

Panicking is sweat and fear and vomit and small dark rooms he can’t get out of, people’s hands holding him down, hot breath in his ear, and strain in his thighs from struggling to keep them locked tight and closed. 

Pete knows panicking. This isn’t it.

This is the high edge of mania when Pete’s running into brick walls because nothing hurts. This is tattoo pain and bad decisions. This is spilling his life in words and trying to burn his fingertips to stop the flow of them so he’s not empty inside. This is two AM phone calls and standing naked on his bedroom window ledge in the middle of Chicago winters sucking in life with the snow.

He doesn’t remember the first time Travis found him like this. It was early in the morning, early in their careers. Fall Out Boy was suddenly the scene standard and all these kids were where a fuck-load more talented than he was were looking at him like he was some sort of god. Never let a man with an inferiority complex and self-esteem issues be god. He learned that when he started worshiping and hating his pills in equal measure. 

Travis had eased him in from the ledge and closed the window. There was snow on the ground inside, but he ignored that and just hauled Pete to the bed. 

It’s become a ritual of sorts now. Pete likes being man-handled by Travis. He’s big and safe and warm and smells like pot and sweat and something sweet that Pete likes to lick off his skin. Travis is straight. Straighter than Pete except for where William’s concerned, but Beckett’s an exception to everyone’s rule, Pete thinks. Maybe says. He’s never sure when he’s really talking out loud when he feels like this. Sometimes he thinks he’s broadcasting everything, like the world can read his mind and he’s beaming thoughts into everyone’s brain. 

They all wish they could feel this good.

Travis pushes Pete onto the bed and lays on top of him, not holding him down but pinning him down, which is different. Pete knows that if he tells Travis to get off, he will, which is why Pete doesn’t need to tell him to get off. He will when this euphoria fades, he knows that and knowing that means that the solid press of Travis and the thrum of his heartbeat is having the desired effect. 

He breathes deeply, inhaling the sweet and pot scent. Later they’ll smoke up and probably talk about Beckett. Or maybe music. Or dogs. Or maybe Travis will just stroke his hair with his long fingers and tell Pete stories about some magical world far away from here. Sometimes there are pills. Pete likes the pills, but not as much as the pot when he’s like this. 

Pete closes his eyes and keeps breathing, deeper and deeper until his chest feels like it’s the right size again, like his lungs can hold oxygen instead of fire. He mumbles something to Travis. The words aren’t clear anymore. Slurred and normal and only in his own head. Travis shifts so that they’re side by side, Pete gathered up in his arms against Travis’s chest. He’ll fall asleep like this. 

He’s not sure he remembers how to get to sleep, but Travis knows the way.


End file.
